


I'm Sorry, For All of It

by OrangeChickenPillow



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bruises, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Saves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapped Jaskier | Dandelion, Kidnapping, No regerts, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regretful Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sort of happy ending, Supportive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Whump, i lay it on thick, just so much jaskier whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeChickenPillow/pseuds/OrangeChickenPillow
Summary: Jaskier is forced to face the demons of his past when a group of men kidnap him, their intentions less than pleasant.Geralt is forced to face his true feelings towards Jaskier when he's risked with losing the bard forever.Through it all, both of them realize how much they need the other.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 199





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings will be given by chapter, at the beginning of each. 
> 
> CW for Chapter 1: Very brief mention of human traffickers and their prisoners.

Jaskier didn’t usually question where he and Geralt were headed. The bard didn’t really care, as long as there was sure to be adventure in store. And with Geralt, life was always an adventure. Jaskier loved this new lifestyle for several reasons, one of them being that it provided him with endless inspiration for songs.

However, Jaskier soon learned that there could be such a thing as too much adventure, and that life on the road did not consist exclusively of singing, good times, and below par food. 

It could be dangerous, too. 

Geralt was always on the move, as was the common lifestyle of a witcher, and constantly looking for work wherever he went. Geralt tried his very best not to get involved in anything that could be avoided, but the more he saw of the world, the harder it was becoming. The human race was capable of so much destruction and evil that it was growing increasingly harder for him to pass it by without some form of regret. 

Regret, the witcher found, was a heavy burden to bear, and he much preferred the troubles that confrontations brought, to the gnawing feeling in his chest if he ignored them. 

Such was the case when, while traveling through Temeria, Geralt and Jaskier came across somewhat of a situation. A band of slave traders had been passing through the area, consisting of three wagons which the men used to transport their cargo. This cargo consisted of several dozen men, women and children, all emaciated, dirty, and bound in heavy chains. 

A Temerian merchant, traveling home with his sons, had happened upon the convoy in the depths of the wilderness. Having a kind heart, the merchant tried to intervene. When Geralt and Jaskier arrived at the scene, the merchant and his sons were valiantly fighting a losing battle. 

Geralt quickly inferred what was happening and, despite everything his gut, and Jaskier, was telling him, he intervened. With his help, the merchant and his sons managed to slay most of the slave drivers, though a few got away, escaping into the thick of the forest. After freeing the prisoners, the kindly merchant suggested that Geralt leave Temeria as quickly as possible, in case the escaped slave traders tried to twist the story into one where the witcher would be blamed. 

Geralt agreed. 

So the witcher and the bard left Temeria with the plan to lie low for a while. This, of course, meant Geralt would find some jobs slaying monsters and hunting down creatures, which, the bard argued, hardly seemed like laying low. 

They escaped to the west, and Jaskier followed Geralt without a second thought as to where they were going. Both bard and witcher found that they were enjoying the peace and quiet of the countryside, and were in no rush to arrive anywhere populated. 

Geralt preferred to stay off of any main roads. Because of this, they traveled through woods, farmlands, and foothills. They passed by modest villages that were hardly worth marking on a map, and certainly not worth stopping at. But, as they were beginning to run low on supplies, and Geralt did, in fact, need work, they couldn’t avoid civilization for long. 

So, with their essential supplies running low, and the ever looming reality that they needed some form of income to keep them alive, Geralt gritted his teeth and steered them towards a road, which they traveled until the smoke of a city appeared in the sky. Not long after they’d spotted the smoke, a road sign appeared, telling them that they were headed towards a sizable trading port. 

When Jaskier, who had been occupying his time by chatting away, saw the sign, he fell deathly silent and reigned back his horse. 

Geralt turned around in the saddle and, seeing that the bard had stopped, pulled back on his own reigns and spun Roach around. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt said in a mildly questioning, almost warning tone. 

Jaskier had gone a little pale, and he was eyeing the roadsigh as if it might come alive and try to eat him. 

“Uh… whew, this is awkward,” Jaskier started, his voice high and pinched. “But, uh… we can’t stop here, Geralt.”

The witcher tilted his head.

“And why is that?”

Jaskier grimaced, and Geralt was surprised by how strongly he could smell the bard’s fear. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve pissed off another woman? Or perhaps a man this time?”

Jaskier just grimaced back at him guiltily. 

“Really, Jaskier, you do get around.”

The younger man opened his mouth, but before any words were able to escape, Geralt interrupted him with a single, cold sentence. 

“We’re stopping here, Jaskier. If we don’t, we’ll starve. Or run out of money. I’m tired of having to dance around your lover’s quarrels.”

“Geralt, I swear it’s not what you think--”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” the witcher interjected. “All that matters are the facts, which are: if we don’t stop to restock, we’re going to run into problems. We’re stopping.”  
With that, Geralt turned Roach around and started towards the curling smoke of the city at a steady pace. 

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, letting it trail along his face before dropping against his side. 

He swore, then sighed, then spurred his horse forward to catch up with the witcher. 

The cobbled streets, crowded with people, were grimey and worn from decades of constant use. Geralt dismounted once they were inside the city gates, and Jaskier followed suit, though with much hesitation. The bard looked like a rabbit caught in the middle of a field. His head seemed to be spinning in every direction at once, eyes darting around, frantically trying to take everything in. 

As Geralt watched him, a spark of concern settled in his chest; he’d seen Jaskier scared plenty of times, but the bard seemed unusually tense. Geralt wasn’t surprised -- Jaskier had a long and detailed record of pissing people off, and it seemed almost everywhere they went, there was someone who had it out for the troubadour. 

Geralt sighed. There was always something that prevented them from having a single moment of peace. Always something. 

Shooting a glance at the increasingly worried bard, Geralt tried to put him at ease. 

“Just… stay close to me. You’ll be fine.”

“Right… yeah,” came Jaskier’s hasty, dejected response. 

He sounded like a man on his way to the gallows. 

Geralt grunted, narrowing his eyes at the bard before turning away. 

“We’ll go purchase a room,” he muttered, not looking at the younger man. “You can stay in the safety of an inn while I get what we need. Then we can leave first thing in the morning.”

He heard Jaskier draw in a deep breath from behind him, holding it for a moment before singing shakily. 

“Yeah, alright. Good plan. Lead the way, then.”

Geralt weaved through the crowd of people. Large wagons were passing them from the opposite direction, heading out of the city now that the sun was going down and many of the stands were closing for the day. He would have to move quickly if he wanted to purchase the supplies they needed before everything closed. 

After asking for directions, they found one of the nicer inns the city had to offer. It was a two story building made of crumbling stone and red wood, freshly painted. As soon as he saw it, Geralt suspected there might be a problem. 

“Hold Roach, will you,” Geralt said, handing the reins over to Jaskier, who shot him a wide eyed look of protest. 

“I don’t see a stable,” the witcher explained. “I’m going to go in and ask, see what we can do.”

“Wait, Geralt, wait--”

But the witcher was already heading for the door. 

The inside of the building was pleasantly warm and well lit, giving it a homely and comfortable feeling. The ground floor consisted of a small dining area and a lounge by the fire. A bar stretched along the back wall, and a set of stairs led up to a dark hallway towards the left of the room. 

Geralt strode up to the bar where a woman was polishing mugs with a damp rag, her frizzy, fiery hair tied behind her head and a look of concentration on her face. 

When he approached, she looked up at him with an expectant, kindly face that was dotted with freckles. 

“What can I do for ya?” she asked, her voice revealing a thick accent. 

“I’d like to purchase a room for the night--”

“One night?” she interrupted to clarify. 

“Yes. Will that be alright?”

“Oh shure,” she waved her hand and shot him a friendly smile. “Not a problem, sir.”

Geralt nodded his thanks. 

“My companion and I have two horses,” he continued. “They’ll be in need of loding for the night as well.”

The woman nodded her head understandingly. 

“Right you are, sir. Just take this ‘ere road down three doors,” she pointed to her left, indicating which way. “And you’ll be sure to find a stable there for yer mounts. I’ll keep a room aside for ya.” 

“Thank you. I’ll return once I’m done tending to the horses to pay, if that’s all right.”

“Right indeed, sir,” she nodded, flashing another charming smile. 

He bowed slightly to her, then spun around and made his way out into the growing dusk. 

Jaskier was leaning against a post, tapping his foot anxiously. When he saw the witcher approaching, he sprung up, nearly spooking the horses. 

“Oi, Geralt, thank the gods,” he said, visibly relieved. 

“I was gone for barely five minutes, Jaskier,” Geralt said, his dry tone carrying a hint of teasing. 

“Yes. Yes you were. The longest five minutes of my life.” Jaskier followed behind the witcher as he led Roach down the street. 

Once the horses were taken care of, the two returned to the inn to pay for their room. The woman greeted Geralt with a grin and attempted to exchange a few friendly words with Jaskier. The bard, who was usually so outgoing with people, seemed off, though it appeared only Geralt noticed. 

The woman gave them their room number and some brief directions on how to find it, then wished them a pleasant stay. Geralt thanked her, then led Jaskier off to the side.  
“I need to purchase our supplies,” he said, tossing Jaskier a bit of money. 

“You get some dinner, see if it can be delivered to our room. I’ll eat when I get back, given that you save me some,” the witcher tried to tease him, but Jaskier was too distracted to notice. 

Geralt tilted his head, studying the bard for a moment. 

“I’ll be back shortly,” he said, then made for the door. 

“Wait, Geralt--” the bard called after him. 

The witcher turned around, preparing to be met with an argument or complaint.

“Just… don’t be long,” Jaskier said, trying to sound like his usual chipper self. 

But Geralt knew the man well enough to see that something was definitely bothering him. 

“I will,” he replied. 

Then he left. 

Had he been paying more attention, Geralt might have noticed the figures that had begun to gather in the alleyway across from the inn, taking pains to keep themselves hidden in the darkness.

But Geralt was too busy trying to figure out what had gotten into Jaskier, and too focused on getting back to the inn as soon as possible, to notice anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for chapter 2: depictions of violence

The moment he was alone, Jaskier felt as if his heart would burst. Of course, he wasn’t really alone -- there were a few people lounging by the fire, and of course, there was the woman at the bar, waltzing gracefully from one end to the other, cleaning dishes and occasionally refilling mugs of ale. 

But without Geralt, Jaskier felt painfully alone. He felt like a rabbit in a den of foxes; no defenses, no chance, his only option being to wait for his swift end. 

Jaskier sat down at a table and took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. He began to bounce his leg up and down, trying desperately to ignore the mounting anxiety he was feeling. 

Maybe no one would recognize him. It had been awhile, and who’s to say they’d even remained in the city? Maybe they’d moved on, after what happened. 

Jaksier aimed hopelessly to convince himself.

Everything would be fine, he just needed to stay calm. 

A sound from the other end of the room caught his attention, turning his body cold and numb. The sound of the door opening, squeaking ominously on its hinges.  
Jaskier’s mind whirled.

It couldn’t be Geralt. There was no way he was back already. 

As his back was facing the door, he ducked his head slightly and twisted around to risk a quick peek. 

A man had entered. His head was covered in thick black hair, though the pepperings of grey hinted that he was older than he seemed. 

On the man’s shirt, a pale navy blue tunic, a yellow symbol stood out from the middle of his chest. Jaskier didn’t get a good look at it, but assumed that it was the kingdom’s official seal. 

His head snapped back around, and he desperately tried to relax his shoulders. His hands were shaking, and when he stood from the table, he could tell his legs were shaking too, though this wasn’t visible to those around him. 

Setting his face in a casual expression that was the complete opposite of what he felt on the inside, Jaskier sauntered up to the bar, where the woman greeted him with a smile. 

“What can I do for ya, sir?” she asked in a chirpy, eager-to-please tone. 

Jaskier flashed her what he hoped was a charming smile. 

“Uh, yes, hi there, I would like to order two of your finest dinners for my friend and I,” Jaskier said hurriedly, his body growing tense as he heard heavy footfall behind him, growing closer by the second. 

The door squeaked again as another person entered. 

The woman’s face was drawn away from Jaskier’s as she shot a glance behind him. Jaskier’s blood ran cold as her friendly expression turned to one of growing concern. 

He rambled on. 

“And, uh, uh -- I was wondering if you might, uh, be able to, uhm, deliver them to--”

Jaskier winced as a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, it’s firm grip tightening as he tried to writhe away. 

The woman looked at the man behind him with a weary gaze. 

“Is there a problem, then? ‘Cause I don’t appreciate you fellas coming in ‘ere with the intent to rile up my customers--”

“Oh, shut up, woman,” came a voice from the far end of the room. 

Jaskier tensely turned around, as much as the man’s grasp on his shoulder would allow, and saw that three other men, adorned with the same symbol, had entered the inn.

“Eret,” snapped the man holding Jaskier’s shoulder. “That’s no way to speak to a lady, now is it?” 

The man raised his eyebrow, glancing back at the one called Eret, who averted his gaze. 

With a jerk of his head, indicating the woman behind the counter, he said, “Apologize, then,” with the air of someone who was used to having their orders obeyed without question. 

“My apologies, ma’am,” came Eret’s sullen reply. 

The woman barely shot him a glance, keeping her eyes trained carefully on the man holding Jaskier. 

Noticing her looking at him, he began his explanations. Jaskier stood frozen, shifting uncomfortably, which only caused his assailant’s grip to tighten painfully. 

“We have no quarrels, miss. Not with you, anyway. This here son of a bitch is an old friend of the Alderman’s, aren’t you, troubadour?” The man sneered at Jaskier, sliding his hand up towards the younger man’s neck and squeezing. 

“Mmm,” Jaskier whimpered, trying in vain to duck away from the other’s grasp, causing him to laugh nastily. 

“So,” he continued in a venomous tone. “I’ll just be taking him along now, and we’ll be out of your way.” 

Then, almostly lazily, the man glanced around the room and added, “This is a fine establishment you’ve got here. Would be a real shame if something were to happen to it. Would be real unlucky, wouldn’t you say?” 

He shot her a pointed look, and the woman’s breath caught in her chest. She gave Jaskier a remorseful glance.

“Right. O’course. Carry on then, boys.” Her voice had traded its tone of friendliness for one of desperate defeat. 

Jaskier swallowed a sob as he was roughly dragged away from the bar by the collar of his doublet. 

Once they were out the door, the man with the black hair threw him to the ground. In a matter of seconds, the other men were on top of him, grabbing his limbs and restraining all his efforts to get away. 

“I’m sure this is just a big misunder--”

Jaskier’s words were cut off by a fearsome blow to his gut, and the air was punched out of him. He doubled over, wheezing and coughing. 

Before he could manage to catch his breath, a man appeared on either side of him and Jaskier was dragged off into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for Chapter 3: depictions of violence/fighting

Geralt made his way down the street, a few cloth bags dangling from his hands. He had some remaining coin left, after purchasing all that they needed, which he was eager to spend on some ale. But then the thought of Jaskier popped into his head -- he could practically hear the bard telling him he needed a bath. 

Geralt smirked, exhaling a silent laugh from his nose. 

Beer first, then a bath, he decided. 

But as he approached the inn, the smile slipped from his face. 

He sniffed the air.

Something was wrong. 

Barging through the door of the inn, he strode up to the woman at the bar. 

When she saw him coming, she put down the glass she’d been cleaning. He noticed her hands were shaking. 

Abandoning his bags at a table, he looked expectantly at her. 

She glanced back at him, her forehead wrinkling with concern. 

“Oh sir, it’s good you’re back,” she cried. “Oh lordy, what a night we’ve had--”

“Where’s the man I came with?” Geralt interrupted, his voice urgent. 

“Oh sir, they’ve come and got ‘im. They’ve taken ‘im away, they have.”

Geralt clenched his fists, pungent fear seeping into his stomach. 

“Where?” He growled.

The woman shook her head frantically. 

“I don’t know. I don’t--”

“Who? Who took him?” Geralt asked, struggling to stop himself from sounding frantic. 

The woman wrung her hands together. “Well, ya see, it was the Alderman’s men. They carried his symbol on their shirts. Yer friend must ‘ave got himself in trouble with someone important.”

Geralt groaned, cursing under his breath.

Quickly thanking the woman, he spun on his heels. 

“Oi, I wouldn’t mess with them, good sir,” the woman called after them. “They’re a nasty lot, they are!”

Geralt ignored her and practically ran out into the street. 

Taking a deep breath and trying to calm his growing panic, he spun in a slow circle, smelling the air carefully. He perked his ears, knowing he’d be able to hear them if they were still close. 

Nothing. 

With a low growl, he headed across the street. He’d only taken a few steps when a familiar smell passed his nostrils. 

First, he smelled Jaskier. 

Then, he smelled gut-wrenching terror. 

His muscles tightened and his jaw set as took off at a steady pace in the direction of the smell. He’d trotted about a yard when he smelled the blood. It was fresh, and it was undoubtedly Jaskier’s.

Geralt picked up his pace, glad that he still had his sword on him. He hurried along the barren streets. The sun was long gone, and the moon was just beginning to rise into the night sky. A few stars peeked out among the clouds, but there was nothing else to light the witcher’s way. 

Thankfully, Geralt didn’t need anything, his mutation allowed him to see in the dark when necessary. He swept his gaze along the street, checking alleys and doorways, his nose constantly alert for any further signs of the bard. 

The scent of blood remained strong, and the familiar smell of Jaskier grew stronger with each step he took. Following his nose, he ducked into an alley. He knew they likely wouldn’t have taken the bard far, so he focused his ears and stood, silent. 

He was standing outside a small tavern, the light seeping through the windows glowing yellow in the night. The boisterous noises of drunken men floated out from the building. The smell of Jaskier was strong here. 

Geralt took a step closer. 

The witcher could smell his friend’s fear, stronger than ever before. Jaskier was somewhere close. 

Tuning out the racket that drifted from the tavern, Geralt listened for any signs of his friend. He knew Jaskier’s heartbeat well, and the witcher was soon able to pick up on its frantic pounding. 

It was coming from below. 

Geralt stalked around to the back of the tavern, looking for an entrance to some sort of cellar. Sure enough, when he rounded the building, he found a low door made of rusted metal. 

Slow and stealthy, Geralt crept up to the closed doors. A thin stream of light bled through the crack, and now that he was closer, Geralt could hear the sound of steady, rhythmic blows, accompanied by laughter and low voices. 

And groaning. When his ears picked up on Jaskier’s muffled grunts and pain-filled gasps, every muscle in Geralt’s body burned with fury. 

He had to draw them away from Jaskier. 

Drawing his sword, he jammed the blade between the two cellar doors. He pushed down, and the door furthest from him flew open. Grabbing the other, he threw it out of his way.

The cellar fell silent for a fleeting moment, and Geralt readied his sword. Thundering footsteps echoed from below, and suddenly a form appeared in front of him.   
A young, rough looking man reached the top of the stairs with a shout. Clearly seeing Geralt’s murderous intentions, the man raised his own blade to meet the witcher’s with a clang. 

Geralt let the man advance on him, taking several steps back. Two more men appeared, both carrying weapons. 

The witcher disarmed the first man easily. With a mighty blow, Geralt knocked the sword from his opponents hand, sending it whirling to the ground. The man was knocked off balance and went careening towards the ground. But before his body hit the earth, Geralt dealt him a fierce kick to the head, knocking him unconscious. 

The remaining two men approached him, more hesitant than their friend, but with the same malicious glare. 

Twirling his sword in his hand, Geralt paced sideways, watching them closely. 

They attacked at once, targeting either side of him. With one swift sweeping motion, Gerealt drew his sword in an arch in front of him, blocking one attack, then immediately stopping the other. 

He quickly ducked away, taking another step back as the men recovered. 

The man on his left sent a stab his way. Geralt spun towards him, blocking and dodging his blows. Their swords clashed, the scraping of metal ringing out in the night and mingling with the noise from the tavern. 

As he focused his attention on the man in front of him, Geralt heard the sound of footsteps behind him. With one last slash, the witcher spun on his heels, thrusting his sword at the sneaking attacker, slicing the unsuspecting man across the abdomen.

Geralt ducked as the man behind him swung. He heard the whistle of the blade above his head as he rolled to the side. The man slashed at the air where the witcher had been only seconds ago, losing his balance and stumbling forward. Taking advantage of this, Geralt swept his leg out, catching the man’s foot and sending him sprawling. With a quick but powerful punch to the jaw, the man was out cold. 

Whirling around, his lips tensed in a snarl, chest heaving Geralt found his final opponent had slumped to the ground and was in the process of bleeding out. 

Geralt grunted, giving a quick look around. No one had seen the fight. 

He needed to find Jaskier and get them both to safety. 

Heading for the cellar, Geralt quickly descended the stairs. 

When he reached the bottom, everything happened so quickly, Geralt didn’t have a second to think. 

Jaskier was slumped against the wall, his arms tied above his head. He was shirtless, and his abdomen was already badly bruised. Blood trickled from his nose, staining his lips red. 

A silver knife was pressed firmly against the bard’s throat. Geralt could see the pinprick of blood that it had already drawn. 

Geralt barely glanced at the man holding the knife. The witcher’s eyes were locked on Jaskier as he drew back his arm, launching his sword with a mighty forward motion. The blade flew through the air, and the man with the black hair didn’t have a chance to blink, let alone harm Jaskier, before it hit him. 

The throw was so powerful, the sword impaled itself through the man, pinning him against the adjacent wall. 

He was dead in a matter of seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time writing such an action heavy scene, and it was so much fun! Hopefully it was equally as fun to read :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for Chapter 4: depictions of wounds/injuries and language

The knife fell to the floor with an echoing clatter, and Jaskier let out a whimper. Geralt couldn’t tell if it was one of relief or pain. Probably both. 

Geralt kneeled before Jaskier, retrieving the knife and cutting the ropes that had been wound tightly around his wrists. Jaskier fell forward, collapsing into Geralt’s arms with a groan. The witcher eased his friend to the floor, sitting in front of him. 

“Jaskier? Jaskier?!” 

Geralt didn’t know what to say. He propped his friend up, looking him over. 

The bard’s skin was bruised in several places, and his throat was superficially cut where his captor had pressed the knife. One of his eye sockets was beginning to swell. 

Jaskier reached out and grabbed Geralt’s forearms, using their support to help prop himself up. 

“Geralt,” he croaked, taking a deep, rasping breath.

“Ohh, Geralt look,” Jaskier’s voice turned into a wail as he gestured towards the floor. 

“Look what they did to my doublet.”

With effort, Geralt tore his eyes away from the bard. Sure enough, in a crumpled heap on the floor was Jaskier’s doublet. The baby blue fabric was stained with blood and torn to shreds. 

Maybe it was the relief that his friend was going to be okay, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of Jaskier worrying more about a piece of clothing than himself, but Geralt began to laugh. 

He couldn’t stop himself, and soon Jaskier was laughing along with him. 

“Well,” Geralt started, after they’d gotten control of themselves. “I didn’t like that one, anyway.”

He smirked kindly at the bard, trying his best to help ease the evident pain the torn doublet was causing him.

“Ughh,” Jaskier suddenly groaned, removing one hand from Geralt’s arm to clutch at his bruised stomach. 

“Everything hurts.”

“Don’t touch,” Geralt said softly, grabbing Jaskier’s wrist and gently pulling it away from his stomach. 

Jaskier leaned forward a little, his head rolling limply. 

Geralt took off his cloak, wrapping it around the bard. 

“Do you think you can stand? We need to leave.”

Jaskier took a deep, shaking breath. His face was covered in a pained expression, but he nodded his head, mouth set in a grim line. 

“Alright. Here,” Geralt muttered, throwing one of Jaskier’s arms around his shoulders and grabbing his hand to hold him up.

The witcher snaked his free arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling the younger man up with him as he rose from the ground. 

Jaskier winced and gritted his teeth. 

“Oi, fuck, fuck, fuck,” the bard muttered through his clenched jaw. 

Geralt shot him a look of concern. 

“Okay?” 

“No,” Jaskier responded with a pained smirk. “Not really, but carry on.”

“Hmm.”

They took a small step forward. 

When Jaskier swayed, Geralt held him up, pulling the bard close to his body. Jaskier leaned heavily into him, letting his head fall against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Alright, almost there,” Geralt murmured. 

“Fuck that, we’ve taken one bloody step,” the bard cried. 

Geralt chuckled softly, though his eyes were full of worry. 

“I know,” he replied. 

Jaskier’s legs gave out as the bard collapsed into Geralt. The only thing holding him up was the arm around his waist. His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to stay conscious. 

Geralt sighed, then grunted. 

“Alright, come on then,” he said as he hooked an arm around Jaskier’s legs. 

“Wha-- the hell are you doing?” Jaskier asked in a slurred, panicked voice as his legs were swept out from under him. 

Geralt picked the bard up easily, carrying him bridal style so as not to further bruise his chest. 

“Just shut up,” Geralt muttered, and made for the stairs. 

“Geralt...”

“I said shut up.”

“Geralt, your sword,” Jaskier said weakly from against the witcher’s chest. 

Geralt tilted his head. Turning around, he realized his sword was still stuck in the wall where he’d thrown it. 

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, impressed that Jaskier had managed to remember something like that in his current state. 

He carefully propped an alarmingly limp Jaskier against the wall to retrieve his weapon. When he’d sheathed it, he leaned over the bard, hoisting him once again into his arms. 

Together, they left the depths of the cellar and made for the street, heading towards the inn at a quick pace. It was well into the night, and Geralt silently hoped that everyone was tucked away in their rooms, fast asleep. 

They were already in enough trouble as it was, they didn’t need any witnesses. 

The roads were empty, and the night had grown cold; Geralt was glad he’d wrapped Jaskier in his cloak. 

The bard hung limply in his arms, tucked against his chest. He was surprisingly light and, in his injured state, felt too small, like a child, in Geralt’s arms. The witcher’s brow creased with concern. 

Jaskier let out a breathy groan. 

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” came his muted voice. “You can’t ever speak of this to anyone. Ever.”

A smile formed on Geralt’s lips. 

“I thought you’d write a song about it,” was his teasing reply.

Jaskier snorted, then winced. 

“Right. You wish,” Jaskier muttered, trying his best to smile. 

“Ah, ahh,” the bard gasped, his breath coming out in quick, pained spurts. 

“Just breathe,” Geralt offered.

“Oh wow, thanks, never would have thought to -- ow, fuck, Geralt, it really hurts,” Jaskier’s voice went from sarcastic to pleading. 

Geralt set his jaw and hurried forward. When they reached the inn, the witcher eased himself through the door sideways, careful not to bump his injured friend. 

They were barely inside when the woman approached them, her face filled with worry. 

“Lord, what happened?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together as she got a look at Jaskier, who had gone completely limp in Geralt’s arms. 

“He needs help,” Geralt started, not wanting to waste time. “Is there a healer close by?”

“Oh, to ‘ell with any healers, we can take care of ‘im just fine right here.”

“I don’t know--”

The woman looked at him, her expression firm. 

“I don’t need ya to know, I only need ya to trust me.”

Geralt knew any arguments would be in vain; the kindly stranger seemed determined to help Jaskier, and with the state the bard was in, Geralt didn’t have the heart to protest. 

Jaskier’s breathing was ragged and strained, and his pale, clammy face was screwed up with pain. 

“Alright,” Geralt surrendered. 

“Wonderful,” the woman flashed him a reassuring smile. “Go up to your room, lay ‘im down and make sure his head is propped up, now. I’ll fetch the water, and a few other things.”

Geralt stared at her dumbly. 

“Go on now, scoot,” she pushed him towards the stairs, then hastily made her way towards the back of the building. 

Geralt cautiously ascended the stairs. Jaskier remained silent, save for an occasional groan. Once they reached the room, the witcher eased him onto the bed. 

The woman came in soon after, carrying a rag, a few jars in a sack, and a bucket of water. Geralt sat down on the empty bed at the other end of the room to give her plenty of space. 

She examined Jaskier closely, wiping the dried blood off of his face and chest with the rag. The bard, still drifting in and out of consciousness, shifted uncomfortably as she gently poked at his badly bruised abdomen. 

“Come take a look,” she murmured to the witcher. 

Geralt hesitantly rose from the bed, then stood over Jaskier and let his eyes wander over the younger man. 

“It’s bad,” Geralt said, his voice low. 

“Yes,” the woman agreed. “But I don’t think he’s bleedin’ internally. What do you say?”

Geralt leaned closer to Jaskeir, reaching a hand out to take the bard’s pulse. It was slow, like it should be. Jaskier’s breathing was steady and even, now that he was laying down in a more comfortable position. 

“I don’t think so, but I’ll monitor him, just in case,” Geralt replied.

The woman nodded her head, then retrieved a few small jars from the bag she’d brought. 

One of the jars had a thick liquid in it. The other contained the crumbled leaves of some sort of plant. 

The woman poured some of the liquid into her hands, then began rubbing it across Jaskier’s chest and stomach. Her touch was soft, but it was enough to wake the bard with a jolt. 

He tried to sit up with a frantic yelp. Geralt lunged forward, grabbing the bard’s shoulders and gently pushing him back into a lying position. 

“Ah fuck,” Jaksier muttered through gritted teeth. 

Then his eyes grew wide, as if he didn’t realize where he was.

“Geralt? Geralt--” his voice grew high and panicked. 

“I’m here,” Geralt quickly replied, kneeling down beside the bed. 

“Where--”

“We’re in our room. We’re safe.”

Jaskier nodded, his mouth set in a grim line, and let himself sink back into the mattress. 

The woman finished applying the liquid to his abdomen.

“How’s that?” she asked him, looking at Jaskier’s face for the first time since she’d come in. 

“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed, his voice pinched.

The woman got to work again, shaking some of the crumbled herbs onto Jaskier’s chest and stomach. They began to dissolve into the liquid that covered his skin. 

Pulling another cloth that had been tucked into the back of her apron, the woman dipped it into the water she’d brought. Wringing the fabric out, she draped it over Jaskier’s front.

The bard gave a strangled sigh, but he seemed to relax. He closed his eyes and the pained expression on his face melted away. 

Geralt looked at the woman. 

“Thank you. We’re in your debt.”

The woman stood up and waved a hand. 

“Ah, stop it now,” she said with a kidney smile. Then, “Let ‘im get some sleep. I’ll mix up a paste that should help ease the pain while he heals. I’ll put it outside your door.”

She paused, gazing at the sleeping bard. After a moment, her eyes flitted to Geralt. 

“You both best be gettin’ out of here before the sun rises. The Alderman will ‘ave realized something’s gone amiss by then.”

Geralt nodded, shooting a worried glance at Jaskier. 

“Thank you,” he said again, offering the woman a weak smile. 

“O’course. I’ll be just below ya, don’t hesitate to fetch me if you need anything,” she replied, then gathered up her things and quietly left the room. 

Geralt fell onto the empty bed, burning his head in his hands. 

Jaskier hadn’t wanted to come here. He’d outright said it, and Geralt had been able to see that something was wrong, but he’d ignored him anyway. Now Jaskier was injured -- something that could have been avoided if Geralt had only listened. 

What had happened to Jaskier was his fault. The realization hit him with a terrible sinking feeling, and his insides felt like they were being filled up with icy water.

Geralt sighed wearily. Hastily removing his armor and dropping it onto the floor, he rolled into bed. 

His thoughts kept him up well into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for Chapter 5: Mention of past non-con/sexual assault (not described in graphic detail, only referenced), swearing

Jaskier slept peacefully, all things considered. Geralt, who woke up several times throughout the night to check on the bard, was surprised, but grateful all the same. By the time the night sky began to lighten into a pale shade of blue, Geralt was already fully awake. He silently gathered all of their things, careful not to disturb his sleeping friend. 

He hated the idea of leaving Jaskier alone, but knew the bard would need all the help Geralt could offer to get out of the inn and onto his horse, so Geralt decided to go and fetch the horses while the bard slept. 

He slipped out of the inn and into the vacant street. The world was glowing with the faint rays of the rising sun, and everything was cast in a soft silver hue. He hastily prepared the horses, bringing them back to the inn where Jaskier waited. 

When Geralt eased the door to their room open, he found Jaskier sitting up in bed, eyes wide with fear. 

When the bard saw who it was, he let out a shaky sigh. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” he muttered, relieved. “I thought they’d come back to finish me off.”

Geralt smirked.

“No, only me,” he replied. “I got the horses… we should leave.”

“Right, okay, let me just…” Jaskier shuffled forward, looking around the room for something. 

“Geralt, have you seen my--”

The witcher tossed him an undershirt, followed by one of his doublets. 

“Ah, thank you,” Jaskier said, sounding more and more like himself. 

But when the bard stood up, with much effort, Geralt knew that things were far from better. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt reached a concerned hand forward as Jaskier swayed on his feet. 

The bard staggered forward, meeting Geralt’s arms halfway and steadying himself on the witcher. 

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned, sucking air through his teeth. 

“What’s the matter? What can I do?” Geralt asked helplessly. 

“Fine-- I’m fine just… give me a minute,” Jaskier gasped, clenching his jaw. 

The two stood, Jaskier leaning heavily on Geralt while he worked to catch his breath. After a few moments, the younger man straightened up. 

Geralt watched as he tried to lift the undershirt above his head. He only managed to reach halfway up before his arms came crashing down to clutch at his stomach. 

“Mother of bastard gods, fuck!” Jaskier shouted.

“Shh, shut up,” Geralt whispered fiercely. “You’ll wake up the whole city and I’m not saving your ass again.”

They both knew he didn’t mean that. 

“So-ry,” Jaskier whispered back, equally as fierce. “But my entire front side hurts like a son of a bitch, I think I’ve earned the right to yell a little.”

Geralt grunted, turning away to glance out the window. 

Behind him, he heard the sounds of shuffling as Jaskier tried in vain to pull his shirt on, muttering fearsome curses every time he bumped his bruised abdomen.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called in a humorously desperate whine. 

“Hmm?” 

“I -- I can’t get my bloody shirt on.” 

The bard sounded so embarrassed, Geralt could barely keep a straight face. 

He walked over to Jaskier, who was holding his shirt like a defeated child, and gently took it from his hands. 

“Lift your arms,” he muttered. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, grimacing, but complied. 

As gently as he could, Geralt slipped the thin shirt over Jaskier’s head, pulling it down until it covered his upper half. 

A smirk spread across Geralt’s face. 

“You’ll have to add this to your song,” he teased, giving the fabric a final tug. 

Jaksier groaned. 

“If I did that, my singing career would be over. I’d never be able to show my face anywhere respectable ever again.”

Geralt drew his eyebrows together.

“I thought that was already the case,” he pondered. 

“Oi, fuck off,” Jaskier grabbed a pillow, throwing it at the witcher, who didn’t bother to dodge out of the way. 

Their laughter rang out in the silence of the morning. 

Geralt helped Jaskier down the stairs, one of the bard’s arms slung over the witcher's shoulder for support. Geralt remembered to take the paste for Jaskier’s wounds, which, true to her word, the woman had left outside their door. 

She was still asleep when they arrived downstairs. Walking silently past the bar, Geralt pushed open a door in the back that he assumed was her sleeping quarters. It was, and he left a handsome tip by the door to thank her for her kindness. 

Outside, Geralt had to help Jaskier onto his horse, practically picking him up in order to get him onto the tall chestnut’s back, which warranted several grunts, both of embarrassment and of pain, from the bard. 

Once they were both mounted, they took off at a brisk pace, heading for the front gates. Geralt anticipated a problem from the guards, considering what had happened the previous night, but apparently word had not gotten out yet, and the two men on station let them pass through with few questions asked. 

On the road, they further picked up their pace, much to Jaskier’s disappointment. He knew it was necessary, but it really did hurt. 

Geralt was aware of this, and kept a close eye on his friend, who, by the time they stopped to rest, was stooped over his saddle in agonizing pain. 

“Ahhh, fuck. Fuck it hurts,” Jaskier groaned, and his pain sounded so genuine that Geralt grew a little worried. 

Easing him down from the saddle, Geralt propped him up against a tree and handed him the paste made by the woman. 

“For your wounds,” he said, and Jaskier quickly pulled up his shirt, rubbing a good amount onto his chest. 

Not long after he was done applying the smooth, cooling substance, the bard let out a sigh of relief. 

Geralt sat down across from him, letting the horses graze nearby. 

Jaskier grew quiet, staring off into the distance and looking like he was in need of a nap. 

In the silence, Geralt decided to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind since the incident. 

“Jaskier?” the bard looked up and their eyes met. “Why were those men after you?”

The bard’s face fell and, to Geralt’s surprise, he didn’t jump to defend himself like he usually did when his past falling-outs were brought up. 

He just fell silent again. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked again, looking carefully at him. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, averting his eyes. 

“Ah, well…” he started, forcing a lightheartedness into his voice that Geralt found even more concerning than his lack of witty excuses. 

“You see…” he took another deep breath, then seemed to give up the attempted façade, his voice growing somber. 

“A few years back I was performing for a banquet. All the chairmen were going to be there -- noblemen and their families, that sort of thing. 

Well, I played my piece, sang what they requested… they were a lively bunch,” Jaskier smiled sadly at the memory.

“When my allotted time came to an end, I’d planned on leaving straight away. But then this…” his voice faltered slightly. 

“This woman -- elegantly dressed… beautiful,” he spat out the word like a bad seed.

“She came up to me and started talking. She was a noble and all, I couldn’t just ignore her. So we talked for a little while, and then she… she started asking about my lute.”  
Jaskier’s face fell, and Geralt shifted, his eyes trained intently on the younger man. 

“We got to talking about instruments, and she said that she knew of a room where they kept loads of them. Fancy ones, she said -- ones that were fit for a king. I… I just wanted to leave -- to go to an inn and get some sleep, but she insisted...”

The bard trailed off. 

“She insisted,” he said it again, gazing absentmindedly at the horses, a pained expression on his face.

“So she led me out of the hall and into another room and when we were alone--”

His voice dropped off, and Jaskier looked down at his hands, wringing them together nervously. The next thing he said was barely a whisper. 

“I didn’t want to, Geralt. I told her that -- I said so. But she didn’t listen.”

Geralt clenched his jaw and had to look away from his friend, who was staring sadly at his lap. 

“Anyway, I think she got pregnant. Either that, or someone found out what we-- what she did, because next thing I knew, she was claiming that I was the one who… that I was the one to blame, and...”

Geralt drew his eyebrows together, anger and sadness filling up his chest. 

Jaskier cleared his throat, trying to shake himself free of the memories before continuing on. 

“Turns out she was the Alderman’s daughter, of all people. So everyone was after me, then. Evidently I needed to be punished for what I’d done,” he said, bitterness cutting into his voice. 

It was a long time before Geralt said anything.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. For… what happened to you. All of it.

Jaskier looked up at the witcher and his big, shimmering eyes were filled with gratitude. 

“Ah, it’s okay,” he shrugged, offering Geralt a weak, empty smile. 

Silence descended on them as neither knew what to say. Jaskier studied his hands, a far off expression on his face, and Geralt studied Jaskier. As unexpected as it was, and though he’d tried to prevent it, the witcher couldn’t deny how much Jaskier meant to him. And while the bard didn’t hesitate to make it clear how many people out there didn’t like him, it always pained the witcher to hear of such accounts. 

His heart ached for Jaskier, knowing that his past was full of pain inflicted by heartless monsters. And humanity dared to call him a mutant. 

At that moment, everything became clear to Geralt for the first time. He suddenly realized his purpose and desire -- the things that had been hidden, buried deep within his heart until Jaskier had come into his life to unearth them.

His purpose, he knew, as plainly as he knew the color of the sky above them and the grass beneath their feet, was to protect Jaskier from the horrors of the world as best he could. To always be at his side, and likewise, allow Jaskier to return the favor. 

And his desire? 

His desire was to accompany Jaskier to a place in the world, a place in time, where he would no longer need protecting. To see the wrongs that he had been dealt rewarded with good things. To see Jaskier’s content, carefree face look towards the world around him with a smile, knowing that it was full of as much goodness as could be found inside him. 

Geralt stood with a sigh, offering the bard his hand. 

Jaskier took it, and the witcher pulled him to his feet. 

With their forearms interlocked, Geralt looked down at the bard, who’s smile had returned, this time reaching his eyes and lighting up his face with the beauty of a million wildflowers. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier turned to look in the direction they’d come from. The smoke of the waking city was beginning to curl into the sky. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, his eyes turning back to meet Geralt’s. 

They were the eyes of Jaskier again -- eyes void of pain and full of love and playfulness and light. 

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” he smiled and gave Geralt’s arm a squeeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support on this series -- you guys are wonderful and I'm so glad you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy so far :  
> I plan to release chapters as soon as I have them edited, so stay tuned for more!
> 
> If at any point, I fail to add anything potentially triggering in the content warnings, please don't hesitate to let me know and I will make corrections. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @orangechickenpillow if you want to stop by and say hello :)
> 
> Take care!


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